Yes, pancakes is now an adjective. I love pancakes. I played on the computer. Some sims. My mom went to lunch. Steve came over after his after work nap. I went and got my tragus pierced. I was perfectly calm and collected the whole time, even after wards. Barely hurt. But I got in the car and looked in the mirror and it had started to bleed and my ears started to ring and my own voice and my mothers sounded miles away and the edges of my vision were blurred and speckled-black. I was stark, because talking took a lot of effort. "I think I'm gonna pass out, don't hit the breaks." Lolled the way home. Mom practically carries me into the house, I can still barely walk straight. I get on level ground (off stairs) and my stomach starts heaving. I don't puke though. I make it to the couch and realize I'm sweating balls. Have been since the tunnel hearing started. Mom gets me a bucket, some water, an ice pack, and cleans the blood up. Hell yes, I love my mom. I feel dizzy just thinking about the blood, and there was very, very little. I ate cereal a bit miserably and got dressed and headed to work.
Work was fun! Really slow for a while, but then it got REALLY busy all at once. Oh my goodness, I could die those cookie sundaes are so good. And that bread pudding? I had my head in the fridge, mowing down. The night flew by. With the nice people working and the quick pace of the orders, I was having a blast. And I truly mean that. I like the frenzied pace. This is what I want to do with my life. And I really love making desserts. But whip cream pisses me off a bit. So freakin messy.
I got my paycheck and drove to Steve's and basically ate his food and fell asleep on his couch. He laid with me, my sweet boy. I drove home sleepy and here I am. Stumbling.